by Carolyn Hart
‘Evelyn shouldn’t have died.’ He looked into the distance but he wasn’t seeing the first tee. ‘Absolutely she shouldn’t have died. Yes, unexpected heart attacks happen, but I think I knew right at that moment what she’d done. I went into the bathroom. The bottle of digitalis was empty and it should have been missing only a few tablets.’ His face folded in sadness and a flicker of anger. ‘I’m sorry Matt told you and that Madeleine knows. Suicide is a huge burden for a family.’
My tone was approving, not combative. ‘Is that why you didn’t tell anyone?’
He gave a defeated shrug. ‘Evelyn was gone. What good would it do to tell the world she committed suicide? It would have been a big story in the paper. How do you think the family would feel? Suicide.’ His voice was heavy. ‘My aunt committed suicide. My mom never got over her death. She blamed herself. She thought somehow she should have known, should have done something. I wish,’ his voice was low, almost inaudible, ‘I’d been smarter for Evelyn. I thought she understood the arrhythmia was something we could handle. No problem. She was young, strong. She asked me if she was going to end up like her mother. Gail had a stroke, was incapacitated for years. The best of care but lying in a bed only able to move her eyes and one hand, never spoke again. Evelyn said she’d rather be dead. I told her she didn’t need to worry, she was going to be fine. I thought she believed me.’
‘How can you be sure she put the digitalis in the lemonade?’ The question was offered in a wondering tone, with no hint of confrontation.
‘She loved lemonade, drank a tall glass every afternoon. The glass in the bathroom was fresh, unused. The only glass in the room was the one with the dregs of the lemonade. I took a mouthwash bottle in the bathroom, emptied it, washed it. I poured what was left of the drink into the bottle, sent it to a lab. The report was clear. Digitalis. The report is in my safe.’ He shook his head in regret. ‘I’m sorry Madeleine will have this added sorrow. But,’ and he was emphatic, ‘she wasn’t here. She won’t feel there was anything she could have done, should have done. And maybe,’ he was somber, ‘I didn’t want to face my own failure, have everyone know my patient cut her life short because I didn’t see the depths of her fear.’
‘You meant well.’ I spoke in my own voice, a voice that held understanding and kindness, acceptance.
He was somber. ‘Tell Madeleine whatever you wish. I meant well for Evelyn. And the family.’ He hefted the golf bag, turned away, walking head down toward the driving range.
I didn’t know who would ultimately speak with Madeleine. But now I knew the fact I needed. Evelyn Kirk was murdered with digitalis. Only Evelyn’s doctor and the murderer and I possessed that knowledge.
An early fisherman lounged in a canvas chair on the pier in White Deer Park, rod wedged between two boards. Dog walkers moved fast with big dogs, slowed their pace for little ones. Size ranged from a St Bernard, mercifully with a shaved coat, and a Chihuahua no bigger than my hand.
I hovered above a beach umbrella that shaded a card table and two unoccupied folding chairs. A white Styrofoam cooler sat on the table. Gage wore a floppy straw hat, tank top, brief shorts, and tennis shoes. She held a tube in one hand, squirted sunscreen in the other. She spread thick white cream on an already pink arm. ‘Some people aren’t very nice.’
Robert, face flushed from exertion, flopped in a chair. ‘Honey, I love you when you say things like that and sound surprised.’
‘Can you believe that woman told me contests are un-American? I almost informed her George Washington was a whiz at horseshoes.’
‘At least she didn’t waste your time. That grumpy guy who looked like his dachshund asked me at least eight questions about the contest then said he wasn’t in the park yesterday but told me everything he observed when he walked Fritzi Thursday morning.’
Robert fished a chilled bottle of water from the cooler, twisted off the cap, offered it to Gage. She smiled, took several deep gulps, handed the bottle to Robert who glugged the remainder.
A petite blonde in a white top, blue shorts, and sandals came around a tree.
It was as if Gage and Robert were on point. They moved toward the path, Gage smiling. ‘Good morning. We’re Gage and Robert and we’re out here to share popsicles on a hot day and find out who in White Deer Park qualifies as Super Observer.’
The woman, possibly in her mid-forties, stopped to listen. Her face was kind and her eyes soft. Perhaps she was remembering herself with a tall thin young man on a sunny day in a park.
I smiled, blew them a kiss. All three of them.
Bess Hampton’s buff brick duplex in a modest area of Adelaide was well kept. A porch swing creaked in a gentle breeze. Mandevilla twined over the wooden railing, the trumpet-shaped blooms a bright rich red. The flower bed, thick with pansies, was a riot of color.
I wasn’t surprised when Bess opened her front door neatly dressed for the day though it was only a quarter to eight. People who work hard for a living don’t lie abed just because it’s Saturday.
The Kirk housekeeper loomed over me, tall, sturdy. Her broad face was wary. An early morning visit by a stranger would be unusual. She said nothing, waited for me to speak.
For Bess Hampton, I intended to pose as Madeleine’s ditzy friend, young and eager, trying to help out a friend. ‘… A favor to dear Madeleine … sorry to be so early … heading back to Dallas soon … would be such a kindness to Madeleine to help her deal with her mom’s death … please just a few questions about That Day.’
‘And your name, Miss?’ Bess’s voice was surprisingly soft.
‘Ellie Fitzgerald. Just call me Ellie. Madeleine says Ellies are supposed to be cute and pixyish and I don’t qualify but we are who we are.’ I beamed at her. ‘I know you’ll help me help Madeleine.’
Bess’s face softened. ‘Poor Miss Madeleine. So young to lose her mother; even though they were as different as night and day, they were close. Miss Evelyn, well, she grew up in a house where no one paid her much attention so she tried hard to not let that happen to Madeleine. Miss Evelyn deserves a lot of credit there. She and Miss Madeleine were so different, Miss Evelyn always elegant and cool and controlled and Miss Madeleine bouncy and loud and never-met-a-stranger. Like her papa. If you’ll take a seat in the swing, Miss Ellie, I’ll get us some coffee. I’d invite you in but my husband works nights and he’s having himself breakfast right now.’
I waited on the porch. She returned carrying a tray with two pottery mugs, steam wreathing above them, a cream pitcher, and bowl of brown sugar. In a moment, I took a sip of delicious sweet creamy strong coffee. She sat opposite me in a porch chair, sat straight, her strong face composed. ‘What do you want to know, Miss Ellie?’
I leaned forward. ‘I want to tell Madeleine everything that happened. How did the day start?’
Bess placed her mug on a small side table, folded her hands in her lap. ‘It was awfully cold. In the forties. I forgot my coat that morning and froze all the way to the house. My heater was broken. I got there at six as usual. I put out breakfast on the buffet in the dining room at seven. That was for Miss Camille and Mr George.’ A pause. ‘Miss Melissa came down at eight and took food up to her room.’
Camille, George, Melissa. Three of the four attendees at the banquet were in the house that day.
‘I always took a tray up to Miss Evelyn. Coffee, a brioche with strawberry jam and butter, a small bowl of fruit. Papaya that morning.’ She pressed her lips tight together. ‘I’m so glad I had the papaya. She loved that fruit and it isn’t easy to get. I was in Norman that weekend and I went by Whole Foods and bought six of them. Since it was her last breakfast, I don’t know, do you think’ – she looked at me earnestly – ‘that somehow she knew her time was done?’
I stiffened. Was this an affirmation of the doctor’s insistence on suicide? But the digitalis was in the lemonade and Matt Lambert insisted Evelyn added nothing to the glass after it was delivered to her room. And that last entry in the journal, Tahiti definite, was surel
y an indication of anticipation of a journey. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I served her on the little table in a nook that overlooks the terrace. Just as I reached the door, she lifted the cover on the fruit. She said, “Papaya! Bess, you spoil me. Thank you, Sweet Bess.” I was so pleased because she didn’t often give a compliment. I’ll always remember standing there and seeing her smile. Somehow she didn’t smile often. I’m so glad the papaya made her happy.’ Bess lifted a hand to wipe away a tear from her cheek. ‘I don’t know. It just seems like maybe she knew she wouldn’t see me at breakfast again.’
‘I’ll tell Madeleine her mom was happy that day.’ I felt a huge sweep of relief. There was no hint of depression or worry or fear in Evelyn’s speech, only a woman who appreciated the effort Bess made to bring her favorite breakfast fruit. ‘I’ll tell Madeleine how much she appreciated you and the papaya was a reminder of all you did for her through the years. Madeleine will be glad to know her mom’s day started with smiles. Did Alice arrive for work at her usual time?’
Another nod.
Suspect number four accounted for.
I led her through the day. Evelyn met Betty Wilson for lunch at a new little teashop near the campus. ‘When she got back, Miss Evelyn poked her head in the kitchen, told me the quiche at lunch wasn’t nearly as light as mine.’ Bess gave a sigh.
‘Did you see her after that?’
‘I didn’t see her, but she had company. A little after two, that man from the college came to see Miss Evelyn. He gave me a big smile and said she’d told him to come right up. He knew the way. He came here a lot, always had a big smile.’ Her tone was neutral.
I expect Bess would have agreed with Mama when she said, ‘Crocodiles show a lot of teeth but that doesn’t mean they love you.’
‘What time did he leave?’
‘I don’t know. I didn’t see him again.’
‘Madeleine said her mom loved lemonade. Did she have one that afternoon?’
‘Oh yes.’ Bess spoke with pride. ‘Always. Every afternoon. Lemonade with four maraschino cherries on top. Lots of sugar. Oh, I wish I’d taken the tray up. I would have seen her again. Maybe I would have known if she wasn’t feeling good. I could always tell when she was getting sick when she was a little girl. Her eyes had little purple crescents under them.’
Her pain and regret throbbed in the room. I didn’t hesitate. ‘I talked to the doctor this morning. There was nothing you could have done. If you’d seen her again, she would have looked fine, been cheerful, herself.’
‘You think so?’ A plea. Large dark eyes wanted to believe, prayed to believe there was no way she could have helped Evelyn.
‘I know so.’ I spoke with the authority achieved through ruling a classroom filled with football players. This voice was never ignored, always obeyed.
It was as if she shed a burden, grew younger as I watched.
‘But it was nice that someone saved you a trip up the stairs. Who took the tray to her?’
She turned her hands, work-worn hands, palms up. ‘I don’t know. I put the tray on the side table near the hall door and Reggie, that’s the black Lab, asked to go out. I opened the door and he hung back. Like I said, it was such a cold day. He’s old but I knew he needed to go. I shooed him outside and stood on the porch and waited. Reggie saw a squirrel and forgot he was old. The squirrel went up a tree.’ Almost a laugh. ‘Reggie used that tree. Anyway, we came inside and I dried him off because he’d gone into the long grass. I turned to get the tray and it was gone. Everybody knew lemonade was for Miss Evelyn. I thought maybe she came down to see Mr Lambert out and took the tray up herself. I suppose,’ she sounded doubtful, ‘it could have been someone else. Maybe Miss Camille. Or Mr George.’
In other words, Alice and Melissa were unlikely to save steps for Bess.
Murder made easy. I wondered if a clever killer urged the dog into the kitchen. If Bess had taken the tray up as usual, perhaps the killer planned to arrive soon after and ask Evelyn for an aspirin, got a bump that aches, any excuse to send her into her bathroom while a plastic baggie was opened and the ground-up digitalis tablets dumped into the lemonade and stirred.
Bess was mournful. ‘She died alone. Mr George found her in bed a little after four. He called Dr Thomas and nine-one-one but they weren’t able to help her.’
‘I’d like a cherry popsicle.’
Gage grabbed Robert’s arm. ‘Did you hear that? It sounded like somebody wants a popsicle, but there’s no one here.’
Robert’s face reminded me of his expression Thursday evening as he listened to Iris exchange not quite pleasantries with an unseen woman.
I’d disappeared outside Bess’s house, decided to check on the survey, but neglected to Appear before speaking. I stepped close to Robert, gripped his jaw – very gently – with my right and turned it toward the pier.
Actually Robert bore up gallantly, though his voice was a little jerky. ‘Gage, look over there by the pier.’
In an instant I was behind Gage.
Robert watched colors swirl with the same enthusiasm he might have afforded an IRS summons.
I smiled anyway. ‘Hello.’
Gage jerked around. ‘Where’d you come from?’
I gave a casual wave of my hand. ‘Here and there.’
Robert made wavy gestures with his hands.
Smirks aren’t attractive, though his response likely was the equivalent of whistling past a graveyard to manifest nonchalance. I gave him a warning look, then smiled at Gage.
My white T with charming ruched sleeves and very short batik print skirt were summery, but the heat was intense. ‘A popsicle would be great.’
Gage was still puzzled at my presence where absolutely no one had stood a moment before. She blinked twice, gave me an intense look, almost spoke, stopped. Was she remembering the woman who gripped her arm in the fiery office? Another look, then she shook her head, perhaps deciding guardian angels, if that’s who I was, must be permitted to come and go without question. ‘Well, you’re here now, and,’ a huge smile, ‘we found someone. The police will have to listen. He’s a math professor. Precise. Definitive. And memory? He could probably tell us the color of the teething ring he had at six months.’
Robert handed me a popsicle, avoided touching my fingers.
‘Thank you.’ I stripped the paper, bit a cool sweet chunk.
Gage burbled, ‘His name is Waldo Whiffle. But I doubt anyone ever kids him. He’s about seven feet tall—’
‘Six seven,’ Robert interrupted.
‘—and he was walking his Pomeranian. We got a picture. Him and Fifi. They got to the park yesterday at ten to four, started over by the llama pens. He said Fifi is old and can’t go fast, that they came even with the carousel at about ten minutes after four. He saw a red Malibu pull into the parking lot. A tall, dark-haired woman got out. He thought she looked worried. She walked really fast to the carousel. Fifi had to stop so he found a shady spot near the willow. The woman – it was Mom – hurried to the carousel and this is what matters’ – Gage’s voice rose with excitement – ‘she got on the carousel and he saw her stop, hold her hand to her throat. She started to reach out, shook her head, backed away. By this time he was interested. He said she got off the carousel and came toward the willow. She was talking on her cell phone. Fifi darted after a prairie dog and he hurried to catch her. He said the last time she cornered a prairie dog she had to get five stitches. He wanted to show us her scar and we got pictures of that too. But we have every word he said recorded. This proves Mom is innocent.’
I was excited, too. ‘One statement is great. More will be even better. Keep after it. There’s a chance someone else may remember too.’
‘We’ll be here all day. We’ll talk to everyone.’ She was shining with success and hope and relief.
Coal smoke swirled around me. Wheels clacked on steel.
I gave Robert a hard stare.
He looked confused.
I cut my eyes toward t
he willow, gave a tiny nod, mouthed prairie dog.
Perhaps I underestimated Robert. Literal, yes. Eager to see me gone, for sure.
‘Hey Gage, look over there. Maybe that’s Fifi’s prairie dog. Let’s go see.’
Gage turned toward the willow.
‘Hey, that prairie dog moves fast. Daytona next stop.’
I disappeared. Let Robert explain where the nice redhead went. Or perhaps Gage wouldn’t be surprised.
FIFTEEN
Cottonwood leaves rustled in the breeze. Coal smoke swirled around me. The Rescue Express was quite near, quivering to be underway. I stood my ground in the shade of the big tree. ‘Not yet, Wiggins.’ I felt his presence beside me. His disapproving presence. Earlier I fled the Express. Now I was stubbornly rooted to the ground. What next? Wiggins must be thinking.
I rushed to divert him. ‘I’m thrilled you are here for this celebratory moment.’ Not to hijack me from my work. ‘It’s a huge step forward to provide a statement proving Iris had no opportunity to deliver the blow in the carousel. Wiggins, you were my inspiration. You value teamwork. But,’ pause for emphasis, ‘you always have your eye on the goal. It’s obvious we must unmask the evildoer to effect Iris’s release.’ If the language was a bit early twentieth century, remember my listener. I continued rapidly because Wiggins would never be rude enough to interrupt a lady. In Wiggins’s view, all women are ladies. Rather dear of him, really. ‘Though we have taken a huge step forward, we must not rest on our laurels. Never flag, never fail. I know you understand I will require today and possibly most of tomorrow to determine the murderer’s identity. One of four people killed Evelyn Kirk, Matt Lambert and Nicole Potter.’
‘Your mission is to protect Iris.’ Indeed Wiggins kept his eye on the goal.
Determined to neither flag nor fail, I persisted. ‘The testimony of those in the park yesterday afternoon will be useful for the defense in a trial. Wiggins, I know you don’t want Iris charged and tried.’
